


Hostage Interludes

by Slx99



Series: Hostage [2]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Original Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Luke and Leia Switched, Gen, Kidnapping, interludes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-03
Updated: 2018-11-01
Packaged: 2019-06-01 18:05:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,597
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15148811
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Slx99/pseuds/Slx99
Summary: Interlude pieces of the ‘Hostage’ universe from my ongoing long-fic that don't fit into the main story, but which I still wanted to share. Some will be more fun, others more serious. They have no influence on the main story.Basic premise of the main story: Luke grew up with Bail and Breha Organa as the Prince of Alderaan. When Bail becomes too outspoken against Palpatine he orders Vader to take the young prince as a Hostage. Luke now lives aboard the Executor. He finds out rather soon that Vader is his father and the story goes from there.





	1. Emsee

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Emsee is basically an original droid character, a mouse droid given to Luke by Vader to keep him company and for…. other reasons as this story proves.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Writing Interludes and AU's of my main story seems horribly self-indulgent. But maedre, who I dedicate this chapter to, said I should post it, so here goes nothing. Hope you'll enjoy.

+++

MSE-6/d2187, manufactured in year 15 after the founding of the Galactic Empire, in the droid manufacturing company Rebaxan Columni on Chad and commissioned for delivery and maintenance service aboard SSD Executor, powered up at the pre-set time. His audio receptors picked up a distinct rhythmic noise indicating that his master, the young prince, was still fast asleep. Emsee wedge himself out the boy’s grip, his small wheels working hard to escape the arm that tucked him in. All the ruckus had not yet managed to wake the prince.

Emsee, as his young master had dubbed him, had spent months and months dutifully rolling through the corridors of the vast battle ship delivering datapads with encrypted messages and fixing small technical issues. That was until one day when his day-to-day assignments had then brought in disarray when he had delivered the classified update from the Military Headquarter on Imperial Center to Lord Vader’s quarters. The Dark Lord hadn’t dismissed him and instead assigned him a top secret mission. The little droid had dutifully taken on his new assignment and waited in the dusty maintenance corridors for his target objective, the young prince of Alderaan.

Time and again Emsee had led him through the maze of dark pathways from his rooms to the hangar he was designated to go and back. Emsee had never strolled far from the small hatch through which the human would clamber, so he would be always ready should his services be needed.

This way he had noticed when his young master had climbed through the hatch one day when there was no meeting with Vader scheduled. It was the day when the prince had first invited him into the quarters under the hatch. And the day in which Emsee’s orderly existence had been thrown down the trash compactor for the second time.

A force shut down had wiped his memory for days after incident. And the next thing saved on Emsee’s memory chip was an extensive hard- and software update. Lord Vader personally taken care of upgrading his appendages, circuits and communication abilities. Vader had also added a huge amount of data on his newly advanced memory chip to ensure Emsee could fulfil the set of tasks he was to accomplish: keeping his young master happy, save and sound.

Now Emsee knew everything he needed to know about the care and health of human sub-adults. He could detect elevated temperature and other small signs of early illness. He knew which room temperature, light and sound configurations should make his young master feel most comfortable. And he unobtrusively monitored the prince’s sleeping pattern to compare it to the ideal pattern a human of his age should have.

Luke Organa’s sleeping pattern was far from ideal. Emsee processed the data of the last night. The result was dismal. According to Emsee’s calculation his master should sleep for another standard hour at least. But there was no time for that.

Emsee wheeled to the wall and extended his utility arm to plug into the small computer connector. He increased the lights in the room. The prince stirred on his bundle of blankets but still he didn’t wake up. Emsee beeped annoyed. He knew how unhappy his young master would be if the humans bringing him breakfast would find him still sleeping on the floor.

Emsee plugged again in the outlet and increased the lights further. This time the boy didn’t even move. Emsee connected once more with the computer to raise the lights to its brightest setting. The computer feedback warned him that the level of light was not suitable for human occupation. But it seemed to wake the young master. He groaned and rolled over to cover his face from the blinding lights shining down from the ceiling.

Emsee beeped a greeting.

Luke Organa fell silent again. The little droid disconnected from the outlet and rolled over to his master’s resting place. For a short moment everything was silent, then the rhythmic noise started again, indicating his human had fallen asleep again.

Emsee beeped again, the loudest he could, but it had no effect. Curse his makers that his sound output wasn’t louder than this. If only he had the shrill horn of the oxygen leak alert or the blaring proximity alarm on the bridge. His young master would surely hear that.

Emsee instead rolled forward to nudge against the prince’s arm, sprawled on the floor. That at least _did_ get a reaction.

“… ly five more minutes…” his human mumbled.

Then the young prince rolled over again, turning his back to Emsee. The little droid checked his build in chrono. Five minutes would be too long. His calculations based on the analysis of the food delivery pattern of the past week told him that the door would open in 3.37 standard minutes.

Emsee extended his multitool arm and prodded his master. A grunt interrupted the rhythmic noise and the arm flailed to bat him away but missed by a wide margin. Again the prince fell silent.

There was no more time. Desperate times called for desperate measures. Emsee wheeled back two full length and charged. The pointy end of the multitool poked deep into his master’s side. The reaction was immediate.

“Ouch!” The prince shot up, rubbing his side. “What was that for?” he said annoyed as he spotted Emsee on the floor.

Emsee chuckled, then set off a series of tones that sounded, according to his database, closest to alarm chronos humans used to wake up at a pre-set time. The prince’s eyes widened.

“Why? What time is it? Did I sleep in?“ He looked up to the chrono on the wall. “Oh no! No, no no!”

The prince jumped to his feet and almost lost his balance, still entangled in the blanket. He shrugged it off and grasped the mess of pillows and blankets in a messy bundle. He dashed for the bedroom. The little droid watched him dump the roll on the designated resting area that his young master never used. He then disappeared into the small fresher unit.

Emsee couldn’t compute why the prince did not want to peruse the ergonomically suitable resting area to power down at night. Emsee had tried to convince him by calculating that his sleep would be on average thirty-four percent more restful, but his human still refused. The door to the fresher opened again and the prince hastened back. With a jump he landed on the couch, breathing fast.

“Okay, okay, I think we are good!”

But they weren’t. Emsee’s visual receptors spotted a pillow on the floor. It must have fallen from the prince’s hastily assembled bundle. The little droid screeched. He extended his pincer and snatched the corner of the pillow to pull it into the bedroom.

The mechanic click of the locking mechanism of the main door drifted to them and his young master tensed. He quickly brushed a hand through his hair to flatten out some still messy strands.

Emsee calculated the time he would need to pull the pillow into the adjacent room. Too late. Instead he rolled in the opposite direction, pulling the pillow behind the couch and out of sight.

It was not a moment too soon.

There was a sharp knock on the door and it slid to the side. His young master ignored the two stormtroopers bringing his breakfast as he usually did. Even though they delivered his food, the prince was always very uncomfortable whenever they appeared. His heartbeat was faster than it should be. Emsee watched them attentively to make sure they wouldn’t go too close to his master and upset him further.

The second the door had shut behind them again, the prince jumped to his feet. He bent down to pat the little droid. “Thanks, buddy, that was close.”

Emsee whistled, pleased by the praise.

“Okay, so another boring day ahead of us. What are we going to do to pass the time?”

Emsee beeped and rolled toward the small conference room where the food tray was waiting for his master.

“I’m not exactly… Fine, breakfast it is.” said Luke Organa.

His master sat down to eat. But all too soon he pushed away the tray and got up again. Emsee analysed the leftovers to monitor the prince’s daily nutritional intake. His little data processing circuits spat out a warning. With the half-eaten breakfast the prince had only eaten an average of eighty-two percent of the necessary amount of food for a human his size and age over the past forty-eight standard hours. Three percent less than the acceptable degree of variation.

Emsee’s programming left him no choice. He extended the small radio dish. Something that didn’t go unnoticed by his young master.

“No, no, stop it. Don’t you dare!”

The prince dived to catch him, but Emsee was prepared. He sped forward between the legs of the chairs as fast as his four wheels would carry him and into the living room. Behind him with an almighty crash, the prince collided with the table.

“It’s not funny, stop it!” his young master shouted. “Look, I’m eating it, just a bit later.”

The little droid retracted the small radio dish in time for the prince to emerge in the door.

“Thanks,” Luke Organa said sourly.

Emsee made an apologetic noise.

The prince frowned. “You already contacted him, didn’t you?”

Emsee launched into a flurry of excuses beeping wildly as he tried to convey everything from his programming forcing him to do so, to the faulty programming of his young master that led him to such behaviour in the first place, to the concern he felt that the prince’s refusal to eat that worried him down to his circuits.

Despite the lack of a translation screen for the binary code, Luke understood him, as usual. “It’s okay, buddy. You meant well.” The prince flopped down next to him, crossing his legs. “What do you think, will he take less than an hour to show up?”

Emsee whistled.

“Yeah, you’re right, last time he was here in much less time.” Luke Organa patted Emsee affectionately. “You know what, I‘ll ask him if we can have some tools and I can try to upgrade your wheels, how would you like that?”

It took less than thirty minutes until the door to the quarters opened again and Lord Vader entered.

+++


	2. Sabacc

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another short interlude. It has no influence on the main story. 
> 
> Luke gets to meet General Veers and Captain Jhared Montferrat and learns to play Sabacc. The latter might be out of character, I am not sure, but I loved him as drawn by the most talented Laivaaia. The portrait the Emperor being a betting chip is an homage to Frodogenic and her awesome story Meet the Sleepwalkers! In case you read this, I hope you don’t mind it!

+++

Officially, Luke hadn't left his quarters in weeks. Of course, no one but his father knew that Luke left his rooms almost daily and for hours on end at a time to train with Vader or sometimes just to stretch his legs. The admiral certainly had no inkling of Luke's frequent excursions. Apparently, the admiral felt such confinement to quarters was unhealthy for Luke and he had therefore dared to arrange and outing for the Prince. Luke was surprised that Vader had allowed it, but here he was, on his way to the Executor's senior officer's mess with the admiral.

Upon their arrival, they found the mess almost empty. Only a handful of imperial officers occupied a few of the tables surrounded by comfortable nerf leather seats. Without the usual entourage of troopers, which had remained outside to take up position at the entrance, Luke's and Piett's entrance didn't raise a single head. 

Piett led him to the table furthest away from the rest. While the Admiral busied himself with organising beverages, Luke took a moment to study the room.

The mess had surprisingly high ceilings and the viewports lining the room on one side offered a stunning view on the main bulk of the vessel. Luke would have been impressed, if he didn't enjoy a similar one from the viewport in his own living room. The far side of the room was dominated by a bar, where the admiral was currently negotiating to obtain a drink similar to the Alderaanian tea that Luke had requested. 

Above the bar an almost life-sized painting of the Emperor hung. Whoever had painted it had redefined the meaning of flattery to depict the despot with a benign smile and none of the prominent scars that lined the real Emperor’s face. Luke wrinkled his lips with distaste.

Piett finally made his way back to him, balancing two cups of tea on a tray. 

"I am not sure if this is close to what you wanted," he said.

"I am sure it is fine. I haven't had tea in a while," Luke said with a smile.

Piett placed the tray on the table and sat down opposite Luke. Not a moment later his comlink started to beep in a shrill manner. The admiral pulled it out and eyed it with a serious look.

"I… apologies, Highness, I'll have to-"

"Please, admiral. Do what you must."

Piett nodded curtly and got back to his feet. "I'll be right back." 

The admiral disappeared out the door. In the absence of his company, Luke continued his scan of the room. His eyes fell on two officers that had gotten up from their table a good distance away and were now making their way over to him.

One of them, a flint-eyed man, dropped heavily into the seat to Luke's left that the admiral had just vacated. He looked a few years younger than the admiral and was almost as tall and broad-shouldered as Vader. Luke eyed him with apprehension. He was joined a moment later by the other who took the seat to Luke's right. 

The second man was sporting a large scar on his face that dragged from his cheek over his eye and disappeared into his hairline. The eye covered by the scar was white and blind. Luke wondered what might have caused such a kind of scar.

"So, you're the Prince of Alderaan," the first Imperial said, eying Luke with unconcealed curiosity.

Luke returned the man's cool gaze. 

"Since the admiral is otherwise tied up, we'll keep you company. I'm General Maximilian Veers and the is Jhared Montferrat, Captain of the Devastator."

Luke inclined his head politely.

"Pleased to make your acquaintance," he said, even while he debated furiously with himself whether or not he should just get up and follow to wherever Piett had gone.

He probably wouldn't make it very far though and his departure sorely mistaken as an escape attempt. It wasn't an option. Instead, Luke drew on the Force and probed the man sitting to his right lightly with the Force. What he found wasn't quite putting his mind at ease. 

"You made sure the admiral would be called away in time," Luke stated.

"Perceptive," the General grinned. "It’s something he has to reasonably see to himself. Might take him a while to sort out."

"You've gone to quite some length just to keep me company."

"Are you afraid?" the scar-faced captain bore down on him.

"No," Luke replied, despite his unease.

"And why is that?"

Luke attempted a pleasant smile. "As much as I would like to claim it is due to Lord Vader’s hospitality, but I am clearly still more useful to him alive and well than I am dead."

The general huffed.

The captain crossed his arms. “So, given your family I suppose you’d defend the same kind of idealist, far-from-reality pacifism as the rest of your compatriots?”

“You could say that.”

"So, for instance, you wouldn’t condone enhanced interrogation methods, even when the information won can save lives?” Captain Montferrat asked testily.

In other circumstances, before he had been taken from his home, Luke would have been more careful who he'd offered his sentiments to. Criticism of the Empire’s policies could get anyone in trouble. But considering his situation it hardly mattered if he’d held back.

"No, I don't," he said firmly. “And I question that torture saved a single life.”

"An unsurprising opinion."

“This isn’t an opinion, Captain. There is evidence _proving_ that torture yields very little, if any pertinent results. It’s unlikely that a suspect threatened with torture or subjected to it would talk at all."

The captain raised an eyebrow, a mocking smile quirking his lips. "My experience is a different one. Anyone talks. It is just a matter of time."

"Oh, I am sure that your experience stems from many confessions, but you are probably only ever ended up with wrong information and false confessions. Even if victims of such methods want to tell the truth, they are unable to do so in any reliable way. I am sure that if you follow up with the confessions obtained, all you’d find are cold trails, unverifiable claims and useless incriminations of innocent citizens."

Captain Montferrat seemed momentarily stumped and the general was unsuccessfully fighting back a grin.

"I stick to it," the captain said eventually. "Torture is a useful instrument to deter citizen from joining insurgent groups. It helps to maintain order."

"If it is a deterrent, then it is at best a double edged one," Luke countered.

"And how is that?"

"Such practises frighten citizens from volunteering information as they fear that they or those they accuse might be subjected to torture. When the majority of witnesses withhold their knowledge out of fear, law enforcement loses their most important source of information."

A tense silence followed.

"See, I told you that kid’s good," the general said, now grinning.

The scar-faced captain smirked too. "He is," he acknowledged. "I suppose it is expected from the son of a politician to take after his father."

Luke shifted uncomfortably. They'd probably feel differently about this if they’d know who his father really was.

"Anyway, let’s have some fun," the general announced. With a booming voice, that sure served him well to get his point across on any noise battlefield, he called for food and drinks to be served.

He turned back to Luke. "You've ever played Sabacc?" He reached into the pocket of his tunic, producing a neatly packed up deck of hexagonal cards. 

Luke shook his head. "It's not quite a game I've been encouraged to learn."

"That's what I thought. Allow us to fill you in."

The general busied himself spreading the cards on the table. "There are seventy-six cards. Four suits of each fifteen cards, flasks, sabers, staves and coins, each numbered. And then there are two sets of special cards. Here, for instance,” he held up a card. “The Idiot. Has a value of zero, or this one,” he held up another card, “the Evil One, value of minus fifteen."

+++

Piett checked his chrono, shaking his head in disbelieve that it had really taken him a full standard hour to sort out the mess on the bridge. What had started out as a seemingly easy to solve problem had turned into a headache of truly planetary proportions. Piett was unsure how something as big as a gap of three hours between the second and third shift of the bridge crew had remained unnoticed until now, but finally every essential station was manned as per regulations again.

The door to the mess was still guarded by the prince's escort. The troopers assured him that there had been no disturbances and more importantly, no escape attempt of the young hostage. The door slid to the side and gave way on the table where he had left the prince to his own devices. But the prince wasn't alone anymore. Piett sharply pulled in air.

"General, Captain," he said, hoping his displeasure at the two men he had just caught bothering the boy was sufficiently conveyed.

It didn’t have the desired effect on either of them.

"Firmus," General Veers boomed, grinning widely. "Nice of you to join us. The captain and I took it upon ourselves to entertain your guest in your absence."

Piett eyed his young charge. The prince was clutching a number of Sabacc cards in his hand. He looked indeed entertained, which managed to pacify Piett a tiny bit. Piett imagined himself briefly explaining to the boy's father how his son had been introduced to such a lowlife game under his care. Maybe it was for the best that he wouldn’t ever meet Senator Organa in person.

"Join us, Admiral," Captain Montferrat said smartly, gesturing to the last free seat.

Piett glared but took the seat. There was no way he'd leave the prince out of his eyes again when the first unwatched moment seemed to mistakenly invite the rest of the crew took to hassle the boy.

"I think I am getting the hang of this," Prince Luke announced, placing down his hand. He won the round.

"You sure are," General Veers agreed. "So, it's time to bet. Sabacc isn't the same if you don't bet anything."

He dealt out the next round of cards.

"I'm afraid I don't own anything here on board that I could bet," the prince said.

"Not quite true," the General grinned. "How about that locket of yours?” he asked, pointing at the boy’s neck.

The prince stiffened. "How do you...?" He frowned, then his face lit up. “You recovered it!"

The general looked perplexed at the boy's quick perception. "I did."

"Then let me thank you for taking your time and effort to restore it to me."

“My pleasure, kid. So, what do you say?"

"As you can imagine it holds great personal value,” the prince said thoughtfully, brushing his finger over the thin chain. “If I am to wager it, then what would you set?"

"Well, what do you want?"

The prince scanned the room and a mischievous smile crept on his face.

"That," he said, pushing his thumb out to point at the large state portrait of Emperor Palpatine. He took off the locket and held it up. He pressed the clasp to let it pop open, showing them the picture of himself and the Senator and Queen inside. "It’s only fair. One picture of a ruler for another."

"Done," Veers said quickly.

Prince Luke reached for his neck and put the locket down on the table.

Piett choked on his drink, catching on with the conversation. "No. I don't allow-"

"Set is set, Firmus. Let's see what you got, kid."

+++

Luke sat on his couch, absorbed in datapad detailing the blueprints of the Sienar Systems new 2.x Hyperdrive Motivator. That Luke held a copy of the brand-new design and its closely guarded specs, was a curtesy of Vader. A sharp knock on the door pulled Luke from his thoughts. Two troopers struggled to push a huge painting, wrapped in protective foil, through the door.

“Where do you want it, Sir?”

"Put it in the fresher," Luke said, waving his hand non-chalantly, his attention again focused in his datapad. 

With a curt "Yes, Sir,” the troopers disappeared in the direction of the fresher with the heavy-framed picture.

The noise of someone clearing his throat, caught Luke's attention.

"Admiral," Luke said, inclining his head, as he spotted Piett in the still open doorway.

"Your Highness," Piett greeted. He looked most unhappy. A loud clatter from the direction of the fresher unit caused the admiral's frowns to deepen. "Is that really necessary?"

"What do you mean?" Luke asked, his eyebrows raised.

"The portrait... I would appreciate if you could return it to its designated place."

"But it's mine now. I've won it fair and square."

"Maybe you could consider it a... donation? It would save me the explanation to procurement how the picture of his majesty was lost."

"I don't know, I like it here a bit more decorated," Luke said. 

Piett stood up a little taller. “In that case, I could organize another painting for you. I’ve checked the database and there might be a very nice painting currently on board the Tyrant made by a famous Alderaanian artist that you could have instead?”

“But it wouldn't have the same sweet taste of winning at Sabacc to it,” Luke interjected.

The admiral pursed his lips sourly. The troopers filed out and left. Luke got to his feet and marched to the fresher to examine the effect of the artwork on the room. He poked his nose in.

"Nine hells!" Luke jumped back out into the bedroom and bumped soundly into the Admiral who had followed close on his heels.

The admiral took a look himself. "It's a little... overwhelming," he said after a moments contemplation, the corners of his mouth twitching treacherously.

Recovered from his first shock, Luke dared to peek over the admiral's shoulders. The painting was so large that it appeared to an unsuspecting person walking into the fresher as if the Emperor in person was standing in the tiny room. Luke shuddered.

"That’s one way of putting it," he said. " I might be inclined to return it. Unless of course you could organize me some darts..."

"And what would you need darts for?" Piett asked, failing spectacularly at a neutral face.

"Um… for completely unrelated purposes," Luke grinned.

"Nice try."

"Well, in that case, you can have it back. Far be it for me to spoil the cosy atmosphere of the mess that would be incomplete without the charm of this portrait."

Piett seemed to breathe a little easier. "It may be a bit too much asked, but would you also be willing to return Captain Montferrat’s code cylinder?"

+++

Admiral Piett watched the painting of the Emperor being put back in its rightful place overlooking the officer's mess. It did little to alleviate his sour aftertaste that lingered from his recent, very heated debate with Captain Lennox, Commander of the Star Destroyer Tyrant whose office had until most recently been decorated with a fancy landscape painting of the Juran mountains on Alderaan. A painting which Lennox had been most reluctant to part with.

Only after Piett had pulled rank and threatened with disciplinary actions, the Captain had let his prized decoration go. Piett was certain that Lennox would be even angrier if he knew that the painting was now hanging in the quarters of the smug Prince of Alderaan.

Piett pinched the bridge of his nose to ward off a headache. He needed to focus on the few positives of this whole episode. At least the brief absence of the painting of the Emperor had mercifully sparked no gossip. Now Piett could only hope that no one would ever get close enough to it to read the tiny plaque now attached on the bottom right corner of the frame. In elaborate writing, it was engraved with a short text that, were anyone to read it, would sure raise uncomfortable questions.

_Most graciously donated by his Serene and Royal Highness, Crown Prince Luke Organa of Alderaan._

+++

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story is meant light-hearted and yet I would like to raise awareness to a topic that is often misrepresented in fiction. I can most warmly recommend scripttorture on tumblr, who is tirelessly helping writers depict torture accurately including the fact that torture does not work in term of providing accurate, reliable and fast information. Check out their blog if you want to learn more.


	3. Flu

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Luke catches a flu and Vader has to deal with it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am a little stuck with Hostage in the past days. So maybe this a little more lighthearted interlude helps in getting back into the flow.

It was a mystery how the prince had caught the Ithorian Flu in the first place. It had spread like wildfire through the Executor, likely brought back from an unlucky ensign from shore leave, affecting at times almost five percent of the total staff present on board the vessel and only letting them scrape by a hair's breadth around a general quarantine for the whole ship.

After the medical staff had identified the virus, suitable countermeasures had been implemented. Infected crew members were quarantined and for the rest strict hygiene rules were put in place. Soon there was no Turbolift waiting area, no mess and no major corridor without sanitation units at regular intervals. The fleet of cleaning droids was put on permanent duty, constantly sweeping through the vessel from the lowest to the highest deck and back. 

Hastily ordered vaccination injections were delivered and distributed to the as most crucial identified staff as well as to each and every member of the vessel's stormtrooper complement - curtesy of the insistence of General Veers.

Piett was well aware that a good number of officers and probably the majority of the crew was considering his fastidious measures irksome and overblown, but for Piett only the results counted. One week with half his regular bridge staff sick and struggling to meet lord Vader's exacting standards had been enough. 

At least he didn't have to worry about the prince. The boy was as always confined to his quarters, only visited by a handful of troopers who brought him food, all of which had passed their daily mandatory health checks as their commanding officer assured him fervently. Even the air filtering system in the boys quarters was independent from the rest of the ship, one of the demands for upgrades Vader had after the incident of the almost escape of the hostage.

So it was a mystery indeed how the prince had come to show symptoms that Piett was only too well aquainted with. Piett read through the datapad listing how the prince appeared to have developed a bad cough practically overnight, while the officer in charge of the security force protested his innocence that his charge couldn't have possibly incurred the Ithorian flu from him or any of his men.

Piett dismissed the man and added the datapad to the stack of pads he was already carrying, containing orders, reports and plans of varying urgency. It was going to be a long shift today. 

"What is that?" Vader's baritone interrupted his thoughts already darting to how he could accommodate the prince's requests for tea, soup and cough drops.  He stretched out his hand from where he stood several feet away and the datapad soared through the air, compelled to come into the dark lord's hand by his invisible Force.

"Um... my lord, it appears that the prince has developed early symptoms consistent with the recent flu outbreak and-"

But Vader had already turned on his heel and marched down the aisle separating the bridge pits Piett hasted after him. He flipped through the stack of datapads in his hand, in search of something important to warrant Lord Vader's attention to divert his commander from marching straight to the prince.

"Sir, I have a report from Imperial Center that requires immediate-"

"Deal with it, Admiral. I will deal with that boy."

+++

"All I need is some tea," Luke croaked out his protest. Blast it all that he had barely a voice left when Vader had made his unannounced appearance in his rooms. "And perhaps some soup."

He might as well have kept quiet for all Vader cared as he dragged him unceremoniously through the long corridors of the vessel.

"Really, it's not like I didn't have a flu before."

 _That_  Vader deigned worthy a response.

"I am not surprised that Organa," Vader spat the name like a particularly foul curse.   "Has neglected taking proper care of you."

Luke rolled his eyes. "It's just a flu," he croaked, but again his words did nothing to slow down Vader's rigorous pace nor loosen the painful grip around his arm.

A double door before them opened on their approach and Luke got a brief glance onto the medically white corridor continuing behind it and a whiff of disinfectant in the air before Vader hauled him forward. Luke almost lost his footing and the sharp intake of breath he took ended in a fierce coughing fit. But not even that could drown out how Vader ordered the medical staff around in his booming voice.

"He's ill. See to him at once."

Luke hoped beyond hope that the floor would open and swallow him up. Or at least let him drop a deck down, just so he wouldn't have to worry about this embarrassment.

+++

Admiral Piett arrived at the medbay in time for the end of the boy's examination. It was bordering on a miracle that Vader had brought his young charge here at all.

In fact, Vader seemed remarkably interested in the boy's wellbeing, Piett noticed as he came closer and caught he last bit of the conversation."

"... what potential lethal complications can be expected?"

The CMO looked uncomfortable. "Well, my Lord, in the absolute worst case there is a low risk of him developing pneumonia, bronchitis or respiratory problems up to a complete failure and eventual death."

The prince had the audacity to huff audibly, dragging some scandalized looks to him. "Has anybody of the crew so far died?" He asked, his voice very hoarse.

The CMO looked for a moment uncertain whether or not he should answer at all, his eyes darting uncertain to Vader and back, when he was saved by another medic.

"No, sir."

"It is irrelevant if there have or have not been casualties so far," Vader snarled. "You will plan for  _any_  contingencies."

His cold tone made Piett's blood run cold. Vader then rounded on him, his black gloves finger stabbing at him. "Why was the boy not vaccinated?"

"I-, uh..." Piett stuttered, but Vader didn't seem interested in his answer anyway. His attention was back on the CMO. "Once the prince is back to his full health you will ensure he is vaccinated against any possible disease."

"Yes, sir." For good measure the CMO saluted, but Piett doubted that Vader even saw it. He had turned already and snatched out his hand to catch the prince's arm. Brusquely he marched off, the unwilling boy in tow. The last Piett saw was the blonde mop hurled around the corner.

"Where's he taking him?" He asked, more to himself but he got an answer anyway.

"He said he'd keep the prince in his own quarters until he has fully recuperated."

Piett nodded. Privately he could only hope for the prince that that wouldn't take too long. The CMO snapped out some orders, to retrieve medical equipment and medication, sending his gathered staff scurrying to carry them out. He then turned to Piett.

"What does Lord Vader mean, _any_ possible disease?" 

"My experience is to take Lord Vader by the letter," Piett said.

"But there are hundreds of known vaccines, some for very rare and unlikely ever to encounter diseases-"

"You are free to take this up with him personally," Piett suggested and the CMO immediately gestured his refusal. 

+++

"That's a joke," Luke croaked, crossing his arms and refusing to step over the threshold into the tiny medbay within Vader quarters. He had been patched up in here before by Vader's modified medical droid, the last times for small burns from a low powered lightsaber which otherwise would raise uncomfortable questions about how he sustained that injury.

Remarkably, Vader made a lot less fuss about such injuries than he did about a harmless flu. Maybe not even severed limbs could worry Vader. A flu however seemed to tick the Dark Lord off unreasonably. Now Luke didn’t just have to deal with a pounding headache, aching throat and the creeping feeling that his temperature was once more on the rise, but also with Vader’s idea of how to properly deal with his son.

More than usual, Luke wished himself back to Alderaan and in the arms of his adoptive parents. Breha would have made him some herbal tea with flare-wing honey and Bail would have always found some time in his busy schedule to keep him company for an hour or two and watch a holo movie with him. None of them would have suggested to lock Luke in a tiny medical bay or to shove him into a bacta tank should his temperature rise another half degree.

"It most certainly is not a joke, young one. You will stay inside this room under medical supervision until you are healthy enough to be released. Now get inside."

"That could be days," Luke protested. The thought of being confined for days to come in this bare and boring room with only a fussy medical droid with little personality was plain horrifying. "You can't do that."

"I can and I will, Luke. And there are plenty of ways to ensure your cooperation."

"Please, all I need is some tea and rest. Don't lock me in there, please." Luke pleaded as Vader pushed him inside the small room, clearly done with arguing. Luke dug his feet in, but it wasn't like he could really slow down Vader. "How would you feel if you were stuck in here for days?" He blurred out as a last resort. 

Miraculously Vader stilled indeed.

"Don't you have a couch or something where I can stay? I promise that I'll rest!" 

“A couch?” Vader asked with such bewilderment that Luke was uncertain if Vader was unconvinced a couch was a suitable resting place or if he was simply unaware of couches existing in the first place.

“Don't you- don't you have one?”

“Come with me,” Vader said eventually after a long break.

Luke trotted behind Vader through his father’s quarters. Vader stopped in front of a door that Luke so far hadn’t seen open whenever he had been here. Vader keyed in a code and the door swished to the side. Luke peeked around Vader’s bulk into the room and was surprised. It was a surprisingly nicely furnished lounge, complete with two couches, all kept in the muted design Luke had come to associate with everything on board this vessel.

“Will this suit your needs?”

Luke nodded. He stepped through the door. The room felt like not a single soul had set foot in it for a long while. Perhaps not since those quarters had been handed over to Vader, Luke mused. Vader probably would consider such a lounge an unnecessary luxury and would ignore it.

“What kind of tea?” Vader demanded, dragging Luke from his thoughts.

“Hm?”

“You requested tea,” Vader supplied impatiently.

Not long after, Luke found himself wrapped in several warm blankets and clutching a mug with some herbal concoction that the medical department had come up with. It didn’t taste remotely like Breha’s tea, but Luke was grateful for it nevertheless. Vader had even made sure that Luke could watch a small selection of holo movies under the condition that Luke would abide to any medical instruction given and acquiesced to wear a thick and heavy cuff band around his left wrist monitoring his pulse and temperature and feeding the information directly back to Vader. In turn Vader had promised that he would come in the afternoon and spend some time, something Luke suspected he had only agreed to after Luke had mentioned how Bail would do the same and something Luke genuinely looked forward to.

All in all, this flu wasn’t too bad, even so far from home.

+++

"Not again!"

Luke glared at the young faced medic hovering in the door, his gloved hands clutched around a little case. The man gave him a sour smile back.

"I was advised to tell you that Lord Vader is still willing to give you the shots personally if you refuse to cooperate otherwise."

Luke shot the man a filthy look, but he chose not to comment. He had suffered through this indignity once before, sure he was calling the bluff. It had turned out that Vader was indeed very much willing to vaccinate his son personally and since he was a lot less careful than the by no means gentle military medics, Luke preferred not to repeat that episode.

"Fine," he ceded grudgingly. "What is it today?"

"The Darhomirian plague and the second shot for Cathor fever."

"Like I'd ever set a foot on Cathor. The whole planet is an uninhabited toxic swamp."

The medic wisely chose to ignore his comment. “If you would please roll up your sleeve, Sir?”

Luke grudgingly obeyed. “Can you at least tell me how many more of these you have scheduled for me.”

“No, Sir. If you wish, you can take this up dir-“

“I will, trust me.”

He’d definitely have a word with his father.

+++


End file.
